


By My Blood

by LadyKenz347



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Occult, One Shot, Porn With Plot, Sex Magic, Smut, Time Travel, just weird shit, marriage bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 07:33:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19786201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKenz347/pseuds/LadyKenz347
Summary: Hermione travels back in time to change the course of history.An AU for MrsRen's day of birth!





	By My Blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MrsRen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsRen/gifts).



**AU: The war against Voldemort has not yet touched their generation. Hermione learns of it as she comes of age, and she alone has the power to change the course of history.**

**For sweet MrsRen on her birthday! HUGE beta hugs and love to Ravenslight. You are a goddess.**

  
  


XXXXX

A strange but slightly familiar presence felt heavy in the night air, pressing down on her skin with a delightful tingle. Through her ivory veil, she tipped her chin towards the heavens and stared in awe at the twinkling of tiny stars and a giant glowing blood moon, twinged crimson in the clear night sky. 

Her bare feet snapped twigs in the brush as she made her way through the trees towards the clearing, her sight compromised by the lace veil hanging over her face and curls.

Since she had turned of age, dreams of a handsome man dressed in black and fixed with a dark mask over his icy blue eyes haunted her dreams, beckoning to her with an outstretched, gloved hand. In these dreams, his hands would slide over her nightgown, ripping at the linen until she was bare under his covered touch, begging for him. She’d always wake before— well, before anything progressed further, always accompanied by an ache between her legs and a racing heart. 

That changed tonight. 

It was McGonagall who had come to her, at the bequest of Professor Trewlaney. The three witches had sat together on the soft earth of the Forbidden Forest as the cooky old Divination professor explained a prophecy that could change the years to come in an unexpected way. 

_ Pure light shall join with impenetrable darkness.  _

_ The child of the blood moon will rise, born of an unbreakable bond,  _

_ Uniting magic under her heel.  _

McGonagall had urged Hermione against it, but when the vision of the upcoming war, Harry’s death, and Hogwarts a burning pile of rubble,flooded Hermione’s mind she knew there had never been a choice. Not really. 

The witches had arrived on the eve of the blood moon, mute as they prepared her bath and dressed her in a sheer lace dress, the floral pattern masking nothing of her naked body beneath it. Her curls fell loosely down her bare back, covered with an ivory veil and fixed with a ring of pale flowers at her crown. 

They were speechless as they stepped aside, raising their wands in perfect unison. A shimmering oval appeared, a forest materializing in the center, and with a final, steadying breath, Hermione stepped through. 

In her chest, her heart fluttered wild. Slick sweat coated her palms as she moved towards a small ring of witches standing in the clearing of the dark forest. As she stepped between two of them, the women around the circle grasped each other, closing her in the middle, and a chilly gust of air bit through the sky, pebbling her nipples under the barely-there fabric. 

The witches began rocking back and forth, their covered faces lifting towards the sky as they began mumbling a quiet incantation. Sucking in a nervous breath, she turned slowly in place, a shiver working its way up her body. Their voices stirred something in her, heat pooling unbidden between her thighs as their swaying gained momentum. 

A dark, charcoal plume of cloudy magic thrust into the ring, and Hermione jumped back, her palm slapping against her chest as a new wave of adrenaline spiked inside her. The fog dissipated, revealing a woman dressed in ebony robes. Her face was obscured, a thin piece of lace covering the top half of her face, but behind it Hermione could see white, milky eyes staring back at her. 

The surrounding women stopped their chanting, quieting their movements. Their hands remained outstretched as magic pulsed within the small space. 

“Your name, child.” The witch standing at the front of the circle was statuesque—  _ beautiful _ —in an ethereal, haunting way that made Hermione long with jealousy. 

“H-Hermione Granger.” 

The sharp chin of the witch dipped, her lids fluttering closed as she reached her hands to blood moon. The incantation she spoke was almost a song as she called to the stars, swaying back and forth slightly. 

Suddenly, another pillar of smoke filled the air next to Hermione, and her eyes fluttered closed at the sudden proximity of  _ him _ . The sound of her heart must have been audible and she peeked over her trembling shoulder to the man at her side. His full lips were pulled into a wicked smirk as his heated gaze fell over her body. 

“Welcome, honoured guests.” The woman’s low voice slipped around them, and Hermione felt the fine hairs on her body stand at attention. “We are the witches of Selene, Goddess of the Moon and it has been foretold that a great coupling would bring balance to all magic-kind. Without you, we have seen visions of a great war, of senseless death and the slow destruction of our kind, a rot that has begun to fester and must be rooted out. Your soul bond will nullify those prophecies. Your child will finish what has already begun. Do you both enter into this coupling of your own volition?”

His voice was like velvet, deep and rich, and the way it slid over her skin made her ache. “I do.” 

This was for the betterment of all wizard kind. This would save hundreds. “I do.” Her voice rang clear as a bell, and the milky-eyed witch smiled grimly. 

“Join your left hands.”

Hermione shifted, turning towards the man at her side. His suit was trim and well fitted; every piece was a matching shade of black. Just as her dream foretold, his hands were covered in leather gloves and a masquerade-style mask adorned his face. Even with half of his face covered, it was painfully clear how handsome he was, the square of his jaw and the clear blue of his irises apparent. She was suddenly grateful for the veil that obscured her own face, lest he be disappointed in his own bride. 

He made quick work of the glove on his left hand, pulling the fingertips until his hand slipped free and then held his long, pale fingers out to her. A moment of hesitation as her hand hovered above his was met with a growl of impatience and he roughly gripped her slender wrist. The magic that coiled through their touch left her breathless, and her back arched into the unfamiliar sensation as a strange euphoria kissed her skin. 

“That’s us, doll.  _ Our magic _ ,” he whispered, his fingers curling around her bony wrist. “You have no idea what our magic can do. I’m going to show you  _ everything _ .”

The otherworldly witch took a few measured steps towards them, her gaze falling first to her groom and then to Hermione. She positioned one palm over their joined hands, one under, and began a slow enchantment. A wisp of ethereal blue magic swirled over their touch, curling and spiraling, tickling Hermione’s fingers and bringing a small smile to her lips. As the other witches joined the casting, the wisp gave birth to tendrils, climbing up the coupled forearms, and as it reached Hermione’s shoulder, she felt unbridled, powerful magic swell and crest in her chest. 

Her eyes locked on the pale blue irises of the man sharing in this moment, and his lopsided grin grew, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he tightened his hold on her. 

“Repeat after me,” the witch called as a strong roar of wind swept around the circle, even as Hermione and her groom remained untouched. “By my blood, I am yours. By your soul, you are mine.”

As they repeated the words, Hermione felt a tug inside her, a tether that anchored her to the man across from her. The wind died down and the magic slipped from their arms, but still, that tether remained, she felt…a part of him. 

“The consummation may begin, under the bath of the blood moon and with the blessing of the Witches of Selene” In a swirl of robes, the witch returned to her previous position, and Hermione felt a swell of panic in her bosom.  _ Consummation _ ? Under the... with the blessing of… Oh, bollocks. 

Her groom began a slow, leisurely stroll around her. She could feel his heated gaze kiss her skin, and the connection between them heightened as she felt their shared arousal peak. The smooth leather of his right hand slid swept across the base of her neck, and a shiver racked her body. Both hands curled around her bony hips, yanking her arse into him. Although his movements were possessive and rough, her body keened for him. Logically, she should be fearful. But that’s not at all what she felt. 

His hands slid up the sheer lace covering her body, filling his hands with her breasts and plucking on her pebbled nipples through her shift. A strangled, pleasured cry echoed through the circle, and her own hands flew to his thighs, twisting her fingers in his trousers as he toyed with her. 

“You’re mine now.” His breath fanned over the taut muscles that stretched from her jaw to her shoulder, his fingers finding purchase in the low dip of her neckline and tearing it violently away from her, letting it pool at her feet and baring her naked to the circle of witches. 

Hermione Granger was not someone who reveled in acts of sexual deviancy; she had never felt a call to experiment in any way, but as her dream manifested itself under the watchful eye of thirteen witches, she felt herself unravel. Slick heat coated her thighs as a gloved hand traveled down her flat tummy and pushed between her folds. 

His digit swirled in her juices, and against her volition, she arched into him, pressing down on his light touch, begging for more with a hard buck of her hips. His free hand wrapped around her torso, and when his fingers brushed the ladder of her ribs, their skin touching for the first time since the bond, blind lust pulsed behind her lids, and her own hand slipped behind him, wrapping around his neck and dragging his face into the crook of her shoulder. 

“Are you pure for me, witch?” His gravelly voice interrupted her euphoria, and she shook her head to make sense of it. 

“Am I— _ am I what _ ?” 

“ _ Untouched _ . Are you a virgin?” His voice was clipped, as he shoved his fingers deeper insider her, the palm of his gloved heel pressing against her sensitive bud. 

“Y—” His fingers curled, and her knees buckled; she nearly fell to her knees, but the arm around her waist tightened. “Yesss,” she moaned, and he picked up his pace, fucking her into delirium with one hand as the fingers of the other slid up her ribs to massage her breast. 

“That’s a good girl. You’re a good girl to have waited for me.” His praise sent her over the edge as her thighs tightened around his wrist, and she shattered, wave after wave of toe-curling orgasm racking her body. “Our bond will spare you the pain. This—” His thumb dragged along her nipple. “This is only for us.” 

The hand on her breast slid to her neck, lightly squeezing the slender curve of it before yanking the veil from her face. With a quiet spell, a bed appeared in the centre of the circle. “Lie down,” he commanded. 

She obeyed, quickly and quietly, keeping her eyes trained on anything but him. They had yet to really look at each other, and she still feared that he might be disappointed in her. 

As she laid back, she heard the rustle of the leaves under his boots and felt him stand between her knees. Above her, the stars and the blood moon shone down on her, washing away her insecurity. A cosmic, unknowable force settled over her, reminding her of the  _ rightness _ of this moment. 

“Spread your legs for me, witch.” Hermione’s thighs shook as she parted her knees, and the ache for him grew despite the light twinge of humiliation at baring her sex for the witches in plain view. “Are you afraid of me?” he asked, his voice husky in the darkness. 

Hermione’s brow twitched, and she sucked in a harsh breath through her teeth. “No.” 

A slow, sinful smile curled his lips upwards as he chuckled, and she felt it in the walls of her cunt. She writhed when he fixated his gaze on her bare folds, pulling at the fingers of the glove that had just been inside her, and then on the clasp of his belt, freeing his stiff prick effortlessly. Wrapping his fingers around the base of his cock, he pumped a few times as his lewd stare darkened on her. 

He crawled up her body,mostly dressed and mask still in place, and settled between her parted thighs. She gulped, her hands coming up to rest on his shoulders, and though he flinched from her touch, he allowed it. “By my blood, I am yours,” she whispered, and something flashed in his gaze as his lips parted. 

“By my soul, I am yours.”

The tip of his cock skimmed her entrance, and her back arched off the mattress as he pressed fractionally inside her. “Can I see you?” Her voice rang clear again as her fingers moved to the edge of his mask. The edges of his eyes tightened, and the sharp point in his neck bobbed as he swallowed. 

He nodded once. 

Hermione pushed the mask from his face, gasping at the impossible beauty of his sharp features, all at once feeling unworthy of this bridegroom. Threading her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, she tugged his mouth closer to hers. He seemed… unsure— _ hesitant _ —and instead of meeting her mouth with his, he quickly slid inside her, filling her with a single thrust. All thoughts of kisses faded as her head fell to the side, blinding pleasure coursing through her as she arched and bucked into his touch. He’d been right; the magic protected her. There was no pain, only fire and desire and a feral need for  _ him. _

He rose up on his haunches, lifting her arse to rest on the top of his thighs as he set a punishing pace, his fingers curling into her hips painfully. Her pleasured cries filled the night air. One hand slid up the flat of her belly and pinched at her stiff nipple, and Hermione felt the throbbing in her clit once more, begging for more attention than this position allowed. 

He gripped her back and pulled her roughly into his lap so their chests bumped together, and he licked, bit, and sucked at her breasts as she ground against him. Her arms wound around his neck, clinging to him for balance as he rocked up and into her. Her eyes locked with a witch over his shoulder who was watching with a happy, knowing smile, and she felt a rush of brazen courage fill her. 

Her hands knitted in his hair and turned his face roughly to hers, claiming his mouth and dragging her tongue along the curve of his bottom lip. His eyes blew wide and round at her action but his hold around her tightened, his mouth parting to allow her access as their tongues brushed together and their magic pulsed happily between them. 

His mouth left hers, his head falling back as he spilled inside her, a feral growl spilling over his tongue as she left wet kisses along the taut muscle of his throat. 

The pair of them fell back on the bed, and she took a moment to appreciate the planes of his face and the vibrant colour of his blue eyes. He was hers. 

“Tell me your name?” she breathed, forgetting the witches around them. 

His gaze flickered in confusion. “Tom Riddle. Pray, what is yours?”

“Hermione. Hermione Granger.” A soft smile lifted the edges of her mouth. 

“Granger?” Anger flashed over his features. “There is no pure-blood line in England by that surname.” 

A hot blush coloured her cheeks and neck, and she gulped. “I’m— I’m not. My parents are Mug—” 

“ _ Muggles?”  _ he spat, his lips curling in disgust and something inside her fissured and broke as he pushed away from her and stood, fussing with his trousers to cover himself. “Explain yourself, Calypso! You promised me a pure-blooded wife who would—” 

The witch in black raised her palm. “Incorrect, Tom. I promised you a wife that would fulfill your destiny. This is that witch. The seed in her belly will be the child you were promised. They will bring balance to our world.” 

His magic roared through the circle in a menacing gust as he took a step toward Calypso, only to be frozen midstep by a severe curve of her brow. “I told you I needed an heiress, someone to—” 

Calypso’s finger lifted, pointing at Hermione, who was pulling at the coverlet on the bed in a vain attempt to cover herself. “She is that woman. You have received what you paid for. The bond is unbreakable.” 

Calypso lifted her head towards the sky, and in plume of magic, she was gone, followed one by one by the remaining witches until it was just Hermione and Tom. Just them and the blood moon and a mattress. She’d left her time, her friends—her  _ family _ —just to be with him. And Tom Riddle looked at her like a pebble stuck in his shoe. 

He ran a hand through his hair, groaning up at the sky before looking down at her and wrapping his hand around her wrist. “Let’s go,  _ Mrs. Riddle _ . Your destiny awaits.” His voice was harsh and cold as he quickly Disapparated them from the forest. 

XXXXX

_ Twenty Five Years Later _

Hogwarts would still burn. Before the night ended, it would be rubble and ash. There was a small twinge of disappointment at seeing her once-beloved school but as long, cold fingers slid into the spaces between hers, Hermione felt a smile tug at her lips. 

The prophecy had been true. Their union had spared the magical world years of bloodshed, Harry lived, and the world was in perfect balance. Balance was yielded by their beautiful daughter, Celestina. 

She was magic incarnate. The world would never again see a sorceress as powerful as her. She was the child of the blood moon, the child of pure light and impenetrable darkness. Two sides of the same coin had come together just to bring her presence into the world. She was the witch that was promised to them all. 

Hermione rested against her husband’s shoulders. Musing on the years that had passed since she traveled back. Her friends had since been born and now resided in that school. But as decades passed, and she never returned to them, never wanted to, after she’d found Tom. They had settled into their life, their bond manifesting itself a consuming love that lightened him… and darkened her. 

Celestina pointed her wand at the dome of invisible ward surrounding the school, and with a single strike of her magic, it crumbled. Through her wild dark curls, their daughter turned, staring proudly at her parents, her icy blue eyes finding them in the darkness. 

She would bring them all down.

  
  



End file.
